Signature
by Invisible Staircase
Summary: Arthur knew he shouldn't have decided to help Alfred shop for his birthday party. This, this was just the icing on the cake.


Arthur was in a foul mood. One could certainly call it black. It was so ominous it was almost amazing that a thick cloud of vengeful anger was not floating about, huddling over his shoulders. Truthfully, if his temper had become some sort of cloud he would have welcomed it! It was a _stupidly_ hot summer day in America, and Arthur would have enjoyed some sort of shade immensely. They'd only stepped out of the car minutes ago, but the long trek through the parking lot towards the massive building was made unbearable by the blazing sun above them.

'_Bloody stupid cloudless sunny sky!'_

The weather was _not_ Arthur's only grievance for the day, oh no. In addition to the sweltering heat, Arthur was surrounded by rude, oblivious idiots (yes, his former colony was lumped in there). Families walked through the parking lot, pushing overflowing carts and herding children poorly as if they were deranged cats. He could hardly take two steps before someone would cut him off or nearly run him over, and did he ever hear a 'pardon me'? An 'excuse me' or a simple 'sorry'? No no no. The idiots swarmed like fish heading up a thousand different streams, never caring who they inconvenienced.

Alfred seemed oblivious to his rude citizens, but of course, he wasn't having the trouble navigating that Arthur was. It had _nothing_ to do with the height difference (Arthur would kill you if you insinuated that even slightly). No, as if on instinct, his people would part way for him or suddenly change direction to avoid stepping in front of the blue eyed blond. Oh it was all well and good and subconsciously patriotic, but Arthur did not appreciate the fact that this often led to people suddenly diverting to run right into _him_ instead.

Perhaps the final annoyance was a deep and long running one. It was nearly Alfred's birthday, always such a _lovely_ time of year for Arthur.

Now… on some level Arthur was, and always would be, proud of Alfred. On some level he would always be pleased he'd raised a Nation that would grow to be strong, in tune with his people, and not afraid to stand up and do what his heart wanted. Through all of his flaws, Alfred was a Nation that had accomplished much, had really charged out into the world and spread his ideas with enthusiasm. That hadn't always turned out well, and there were oh so many mistakes Arthur had to watch Alfred and his people make…

… but still… England had raised a Nation worthy of praise (just not all the time, and certainly not from his lips!).

On the other hand… the stupid git had thrown all of Arthur's good will and efforts in his face on his 'birthday', and it was a hurt that lasted even now. A hundred years of heartbreak, did such a thing truly go away? Could he be blamed for feeling bitter and upset on the yearly celebration of the day he'd gotten his comeuppance? The day he'd been slapped in the face by the one he'd loved so very much?

The pain made Arthur want to hide away in his room, stay in his house where he didn't have to face the rest of the world. He didn't want to see people happy, see them congratulate Alfred on _hurting_ Arthur and casting him aside! A good stiff drink… no… many drinks and the comfort of his fairy friends… that was certainly a better way to spend this time, rather than having to face others. He hated being the downer at the celebrations, and though malicious joke presents did help a bit, they couldn't give him his little colony back.

It was a complicated day, a very complicated day, and it didn't help at all that as always; everything seemed so _un_complicated for Alfred.

"Thanks again for comin' shoppin' with me Artie! You're normally such a party pooper 'round this time of year!" Missing Arthur's swift glare at his words, Alfred had already started with that laugh of his. It left Arthur with little to do but sigh and continue to play 'dodge the idiot'. At least they were nearly at the storefront. Once inside Arthur knew it'd be loud and even more packed… but at least there would be air conditioning. All hail America's excessive spending on comforts.

They were just about to enter the mega store when something in the corner of Arthur's vision caught his attention. There was a small plaza of tables just to the side, an outdoor eating place wedged onto the side of the store. A scattering of tables were arranged, packed with people shoveling disgusting sandwiches and burgers and hot dogs into their mouths with the same sort of speed their Nation consumed at. Lip curling as the sight was, that wasn't what had caught his eye.

Scattered and sticking up out of the tables were umbrellas, gaudy and red and white, providing a pathetic amount of shade to the eating ones. Arthur scowled, staring intently at the skirt of the umbrella. There… printed right there in large letters… oh this was _too much_! It was as if the world or fate or whatever you wished was trying to make him as miserable and ashamed as possible.

Coming to a halt, Arthur's hand shot out, grabbing Alfred's arm in a vice grip tight enough to make the younger Nation give out a whine of pain.

"Hey Artie, what the hell?" Clearly… _clearly_… Alfred was not seeing what Arthur was. With his free hand, the elder Nation pointed to the umbrellas.

"_Kirkland Signature hot dogs?"_ Alfred just stared back at him dumbly, blinking and staring from the vice grip on his arm to the umbrellas.

"Uh… yeah… they're this—" The idiot started to ramble again, and Arthur shook his head, tossing his blond hair to and fro before jabbing at the umbrellas again.

"Kirkland Signature hot dogs?" He tried it again, his voice all but shaking from the rage. Alfred leaned back as much as he could, still completely baffled by the situation apparently but at least wise enough to see a terrible storm of hurt brewing for him.

"Uh… 100% all beef… that's good… yeah…?" He tried to toss Arthur a smile, as if that would suddenly make everything better. Oh no… no it would not.

"Why the bloody hell is _my name_ on a brand of your disgusting hot dogs?" His voice was so loud it scared a few of the people around them, but hell if he cared. He was all but panting in his anger, chest drawing in breaths heavily as he seethed and tried not to explode further at the younger Nation.

Alfred seemed to actually go a bit pale, swallowing hard and averting his gaze away nervously. "Uh… I mean come on Artie… A-Arthur… I mean… haha… it's just a _name_… haha… right? I mean _my_ name is all over and stuff… and and… uh…" The American was reaching, and reaching hard, for words to make the situation better. Arthur merely narrowed his green eyes dangerously.

America rambled on, his tongue never really knowing when it was best to stop. "It's not a big deal seriously! I mean it's just some cheap proprietary brand this chain of mega stores has… ya know, their own generic knock off brand…"

Quite possibly, Alfred knew he'd just dug his own grave with his words. Perhaps somewhere the idiot had actually checked in and decided to read the atmosphere. Arthur knew he _could_, the git just never seemed to want to. Well, whether that was the case right now or not was certainly not the point. What was done was done, and what happened next was only karma.

The crack of his fist against Alfred's jaw turned heads, the younger Nation falling back and away onto the ground without even a yelp of pain. The punch had been fast, hard, and it carried oh so many years of emotions with it. It was _so_ much more satisfying than a joke boxing glove in a box!

Shaking his hand out, a punch like that stung like hell, Arthur could feel just a small bit of his rage start to drain away. Alfred was sprawled on the asphalt outside the store knocked out, people crowding around him, uselessly fretting and trying to rouse him up. Arthur sniffed, straightened his tie, and turned on his heel. He'd spotted one of America's useless coffee shops just at the corner of the street, and while the tea they served there was _terrible_, it was much better than waiting around for Alfred to wake up. The git could come collect him later. Once he'd woken up.

It was quite a while later that Alfred did wake, sitting up and rubbing his bruising jaw gingerly. He'd been brought inside the super store at least, so he wasn't overheating anymore. All the same, the young Nation couldn't help but replay the earlier events in his head. _'Damn England… he wasn't holding back on that one.'_

While Alfred knew it wasn't _his_ fault that this store had decided to name their signature brand Kirkland, he _probably_ should have remembered and avoided this particular chain when bringing Arthur along. And here he'd been so excited that Arthur sort of seemed like he was getting used to his birthdays.

"Oh well… at least he came along…" The American gave a bit of a laugh, tossing a smile back on his face before he began to overload a cart full of barbeque products… all Kirkland Signature brand.

**Author's Note:**

So yeaaaah… I was out shopping and totally saw this (the umbrellas with the brand, not Arthur and Alfred alas)… and dork that I am… had to come home and fic it. I'm sure others have made fun of this brand before, but I was too amused to worry about being even remotely original.

This is probably the closest I'm going to get to a birthday fic for Al, so umm… yeah… happy _early _birthday Alfred. XD


End file.
